


'He saved my life'

by Enderon



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11590668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enderon/pseuds/Enderon
Summary: A chance encounter between a starving gnome and a half-orc may lead to something bigger than either of them could have possible imagined at the time.





	'He saved my life'

**Author's Note:**

> We were talking at the #scanclave and I got this plot bunny out of it. Sorry for any errors, I'm just heathen like that I guess.

It was getting to be that time of year where Scanlan started getting desperate.

That time of year when the days grew shorter and colder, nights blanketed by a steady downfall of snow, and the weather far too cold for his meager little rags to do anything close to warming him up.

Use to be that he could sweet talk the kind old innkeeper into letting him sleep in the cellar at nights; it was still pretty cold but nothing compared to outside. But to his luck it seemed that the innkeeper had passed away or something and had been replaced with a manager who was not nearly so kindly to wayward young gnomish orphans looking for a bit of heat to warm their frozen bones.

With nowhere to go and none to help him, he was desperate for a good bit of extra coin. Maybe if he could get just enough, he could afford some better clothes, maybe make it through the winter without loosing a toe or two.

Though, he wasn't optimistic about his prospects.

And he knew, he knew that if his luck didn't change, that this would probably be his last winter on the streets.

A scrawny, malnourished, poorly dressed, runtish gnome could only take so many long, cold winters.

So, considering his desperation, both Scanlan and anyone else who might have heard the tale, could forgive him for being just a  bit careless in his efforts to pinch money pouches.

He preferred not to go that route, finding rather early on that his little fingers weren't exactly made for thievery. He usually stuck to playing his flute on street corners, finding it was far less dangerous and he attracted the attention, and coin, of far nicer crowds.

But as the days grew colder, even the nicer folks grew stingier with their coin, and the cold made it painful for Scanlan to play his flute.

So pouch pinching it was.

He was surveying the crowd, looking for someone that may be considered an easy target, when he spotted it; a nice, hefty pouch, carelessly hung loose form a belt, nice and low so a smaller creature like him could nab it easily.

Scanlan thought himself extremely lucky to have noticed it, until he caught sight of the person it was attached to.

A nice, big, hearty looking half-orc, with a face that said he meant business.

Scanlan had to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat, suddenly not liking his odds. But he was desperate enough to play careless and take the risk, hoping to any gods that might be listening that it was one of those stupid sort of half-orcs and that he could get away easy.

He waited for the mountain of a man to turn his back on him, before quickly and quietly rushing up behind him. Trying to hold in his breathing, he reached up and grasped at the pouch, giving a little tug.

To his surprise, and absolute glee, the thing came off with just the slightest bit of of pressure, easily slipping into his grasp.

Trying not to squeal in his excitement, Scanlan turned to scurry back to his hiding spot, when a big, heavy, meaty hand came down right on top of his head.

"Now, what have we here?" a voice said above him, right near making the little gnome wet himself in fear, "Seems kids around here have some pretty sticky fingers on them."

"I-I uh, thi-this is," Scanlan gulped and twisted his head to glance up at the half-orc out of the corner of his eye, surprised to find that his face was far more amused than angry, "this is jes a misunderstanding," he got a hold of his voice and tried to keep it from wavering as he held eye contact with the looming man still holding his head, "Ya see, yer pouch came undone and fell in tha snow, so I though aye'd bring it back ta ya." With a little, unnerved giggle, he held out the pouch to it's owner, hoping he'd buy the bull and let him go.

The half-orc seemed to consider it for a moment or two, before letting out a bemused chuckle. He ruffled the little gnome's hair, putting Scanlan off balance a bit, and took the pouch up, bounding it in one hand as he straightened up to his full height, looking down at the little figure beneath him.

"Well, I guess a thanks is in order then," he laughed, his face jovial one moment and then suddenly shifting into something far more serious, "Though, I gotta warn ya kid. Even if you're trying ta do a good thing, I'd suggest keeping your mits off of other people's property," then, with a particularly cheeky grin, "Someone might think you were trying to stele from em." Scanlan felt his breath catch in his throat as the half-orc gave him a tip of his hat and then turned to be on his way, still bouncing the coin pouch in his hand.

Scanlan watched him, his heart hammering in his chest as he realized, just who close he was to being completely, royally screwed.

Who knows what a man that big could do to a kid as small and frail as him.

Yet, even though it seemed like he knew exactly what Scanlan was trying to do, the half-orc had let him go. He could have easily made mush out of him but he'd let him go.

That encounter stuck with Scanlan for the next two weeks, thoughts of the half-orc who had spared him always on his mind.

He didn't' know why. It's not like it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Why should he be so happy that a man didn't kill him?

Though, if asked, Scanlan wouldn't have described his fascination out of any kind of gratefulness or happiness.

No, it was something as if….. as if he knew the half-orc, like an old family friend that you just barely remember.

Though he hadn't a clue why he felt that way.

It was two weeks later and Scanlan was at his usual corner, flute to his lips, trying to produce a semi-good sound that didn't warble from his shivering. The previous night had been the first snow of the winter and everything was already that much more awful than before. Every time Scanlan tried to move his fingers along the instrument, his skin would catch on the frozen metal, snapping painfully against the muscle and creating an awful sting amidst the stiff numbness.

Really, there was no point in him being out there. He wash't producing anything even worth listening to let alone worthy of coin. He should have just given up, what with him already squinting to see through the freezing wind and finding himself getting sleepier and sleepier.

He felt a strange warmth growing in him, and it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't eaten anything in at least a week, and that had been the sorry remains of an apple.

That was his last thought before a large presence stepped in front of him, startling him from his thoughts. Tipping his head back, he blinked furiously to try and see who it might be, though something about them seemed familiar.

"Was just choking bout the sticky fingers thing, but now here you go making me feel bad for saying it." The person said, and Scanlan realized why they seemed so familiar.

It was the half-orc from two weeks ago, right there in front of him.

"W-what-what're y-y-y-ha d-doin here?" Scanlan's voice was hardly more than a whisper, so weak from lack of food and the cold that his boisterous pipes seemed to be frozen over like the rest of him, "H-h-he-here ta f-f-f-finish…. the job?"

Blinking through the wind, Scanlan was half surprised to find that the half-orc was giving him a sympathetic look, though quickly told himself that it was just the starvation that was making him see things.

"Nah, I'm not here ta finish anything….. Here," kneeling down, Scanlan flinched away when something was held out to him, "Come now, I'm not gonna hurt ya, it's alright." Scanlan really didn't trust this half-orc that he had tried to steal from, even if he had spared his life, but he was too weak, cold, and tired to put up much of a fight as he felt something wrap around him, something soft, though kind of scratchy.

But it was warm, warmer than he'd been in a real long time.

Feeling this warmth, Scanlan became even more aware of just how tired he was, and felt himself fall forward, a large, warm hand the only thing keeping him from face planting into the snow.

He thought he heard someone saying something, but everything juts became more and more muffled as his vision faded away into darkness and silence.

For the first time since that dreadful day, Scanlan dreamed. Not that he didn't have 'dreams' anymore, just that every night was another nightmare, waking him up before he'd had nearly as much sleep as he needed and making him jumpy and paranoid.

But this night, he dreamt, of his mother, of home, of what it was like before that day.

It was a nice dream

And as he opened his eyes to find himself somewhere very soft, and very warm, with a ceiling of wooden planks over top of him, he thought he was still dreaming.

But as he came to consciousness, he became aware that the deep voiced, gruff humming from somewhere nearby, was distinctly unlike that of anything he had ever dreamed.

Sitting up slowly, and cautiously, he looked around the room, finding it to be some sort of inn room, the kind he had seen before that day, when his mother would sometimes take him to work with her. It was pretty standard as far as inns go; wooden ceiling and walls with a stone floor, a small table in the corner, a bed with a small bedside table right next to it, a chest for belongings, and a fireplace.

The humming was coming from the fireplace where a familiar figure was crouched, stoking the flames.

Scanlan narrowed his eyes at him.

"What's the catch?" he demanded, a bit annoyed when the half-orc didn't even jump, just stopped humming and turned to look at him, "No one's this nice for no reason. S'what's tha catch?"

"No catch." Scanlan's eyes narrowed even more as the half-orc turned back to the flames, starting up his humming again. The gnome stared at the half-orc's back, weighing his options and trying to figure out what his angle was. After a few minutes, the humming stopped again, and the half-orc turned back to him.

"Can you play?"

At the confused look he received, he gestured with his head to the table in the corner. Looking at it closer, Scanlan recognized his won flute resting on top. Seeing it there and safe made him feel so much more at ease, and then instantly more anxious in that this half-orc had it.

"Looked like you were at least trying ta play it out there, though that what you were doing out there doesn't really answer my question."

"Course I can play!" Scanlan snapped, annoyed at the clear insult. So it sounded shitty? He was starving and freezing to death, so he couldn't really be blamed.

The half-orc eyed him for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on his face. Getting up suddenly, causing Scanlan to jump a little bit, he made his way to the little table, picking up the flute and turning it over in his hands.

It made Scanlan feel nervous.

"Where'd ya get it?" He asked, not even looking at the gnome, his attention fixed on the instrument he was holding, far too small for his half-orc hands.

Scanlan hesitated.

"Ma mother got it fer me." He whispered, a distant look in his eyes as he looked at the flute in the half-orc's hands, aware of tears beading at the corner of his eyes. He tried to hold them back, but was failing at it as he thought of her.

It had been years, but it still hand't been long enough.

"Prove it," Scanlan fumbled to catch his treasured possession as it was tossed to him, trying desperately not to let it fall off of the bed, "God ahead, impress me." Leaning back against the table, the half-orc fixed him with an unreadable expression.

It made Scanlan nervous to look him in the eye.

So, he focused on his flute instead, running a hand over it's metallic surface fondly. It wasn't in the best of shape, but that could be expected when he could barely care for himself.

Taking a deep breath, he raised it to his lips and began to play. It wasn't anything too fancy, just an old gnomish melody that his mother had taught him, but it was a song that tended to bring in the most crowds.

As he played, the story of the song came back to him, his mother's voice echoing in his memory.

'This song is about loss,' she had said as she helped him move his fingers up and down the length, adjusting his finger tips to memorize the notes and their order, 'It's about grief and sorrow, but also about the happiness that comes from remembering the ones that have been lost.'

Playing it now, he found himself choking up a little bit, and had to stop for a second to cough and clear his throat, not looking at the other presence in the room as he quickly returned to playing, wanting to finish the song as quickly as possible.

Once he reached the end, he slowly lowered the flute to his lap, looking at his distorted reflection in its surface.

Gods, he fucking missed his mom.

Aware of the sound of clapping, he looked up to see the half-orc looking at him with something like excitement glistening in his dark eyes.

"Kid, you just might of saved your hide," stepping towards the bed, he held a hand out to the little gnome, "How would you feel about joining my troupe?"

Scanlan looked down at the offered hand and then back up at the half-orc with narrowed eyes.

"What sort a troupe?"

"A traveling troupe, of musicians!" with a deep, booming laugh, the half-orc plopped down on the side of the bed, making scanlan bounce a little bit and scoot back, "It's been a real long while since I've found someone like you with actual musical talent. It'd certainly be a miss to me and the world if I just left you here to die. So, what do ya say?" He moved his offered hand closer to the gnome.

Scanlan eyed it a little more.

"What's yer name?" He asked.

"Dranzel, Dr. Dranzel in a professional environment."

"………" with a cheeky smile, Scanlan slapped his little hand into Dranzel's much larger one, "Shorthalt, Scanlan Shorthalt."


End file.
